Some Firstie
by Noir Lime Canuto
Summary: "You know that feeling, when you've got this brilliant idea for your school project, and then everyone has the same one? And you find out that day? It was sort of like that. Sort of." Scorpius presents an essay about his hero. Fluff. Hufflepuff Scorpius.


_ Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended._

**Some Firstie**

I'm sitting in the back of the room, looking at the floor.

You know that feeling, when you've got this _brilliant_ idea for your school project, and then everyone has the same one? And you find out _that_ day? It was sort of like that. Sort of.

I mean, I know mine's sort of different from their's, but mine's _stupider_. The thing is, I just couldn't _think_ of anything else, you know?

I guess I should explain.

First years take a course called Parallel Studies. Lots of people think it's really boring, but I think it's sort of interesting. I asked Pap is he thought it was interesting in my last letter—because he'd know better than anyone my age, I figure—but he said they didn't have it when he went to school here. Said he was glad I found it interesting, because he'd kill me if I didn't get an O in it. That's the problem with writing home to your Pap about classes, whatever they say, it's always ends with them killing you if you don't get an O.

Anyway.

As I said, I'm sitting here in the back of the room. I'm not _really_ listening, but I know I don't _have_ to, anyhow. Because it's not the teacher talking, it's Chuck Maench. Chucks pretty nice. Right now he's explaining how he grew up into football—it's this muggle sport; Pap likes it, but I think it's sort of silly with just the one ball—and then how he came here to Hogwarts and found out about quidditch.

It couldn't have been too long ago, since it's only October seventeenth. Oh, wait, now he's mentioned that, too. How fast he started liking quidditch. Well, quidditch is pretty great.

Thing is, our presentations aren't supposed to be about sports. We're presenting an essay on who our hero is. We're doing this whole _unit_ on heroes now. At the beginning of the year, we talked about how muggle culture and wizarding culture were different, but had common themes and stuff. So, now we're on the theme of heroes, I guess.

I know what you're thinking. _Oh_, you're thinking, _So Chuck Maench's hero must be Ingo Norrider, or someone else on the Cannons_. Nope. His hero is James Potter. Same as the last two boys to go.

James Potter is the best quidditch player in Hogwarts, we all know it, and, as Hufflepuffs, we haven't even seen him in a real game yet, just scrimmages. They say he got on the team at the start of his second year. They offered him a position in his first, probably because his mum's was a famous quidditch player and all, but he refused. I heard everyone said it was dumb at the time from loads of people—though they always claim _they_ didn't think so—but now everyone agrees that that was really cool of him.

I mean, sure, he's a Gryffindor, but you're allowed to root for him as long as the Gryffies aren't going against your house. I mean, you _can't_ root against Hufflepuff, _ever_. It's just not nice, you know? Like, even if every other house on the field wants your team to lose—even if your seeker is dragon dung—you _have_ to support them. It's not written down anywhere, but how would _you_ feel if your own house wanted you to lose?

Anyway, Chucks about done now. Everyone's applauding, and I am too, even though his essay wasn't, like, extraordinary or anything. You have to clap the same for everyone, even if they're _really_ bad. Well, I guess if they're great, you're allowed to clap a little extra, but there's a rule—except no one's _said_ it, but everyone _knows_ it—that there's a minimum of how much you need to clap, so people can pretend like no one noticed that they messed up, or whatever.

Sometimes, when you're with Gryffies or Slyths, people don't always follow the rule, but not in Parallel Studies. We're with the Ravenclaws for Parallel Studies, and the only time it feels like we're not two parts of the same house is when we're watching a scrimmage with Puffles versus Ravies.

Everyone's looking at me.

Why is everyone...

I stand up and move to the front of the room.

Right, _that's_ why everyone's looking at me.

_Mal_foy comes after _Mae_nch.

I forget stuff like that sometimes. Then my stupid cheeks turn all stupid pink.

I probably look like a _girl_.

And not even a pretty one, like Alice, or Rose.

I probably look like a really, really, really ugly girl. Because I look like a boy, except with stupid girly pink cheeks.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Miss Tibby looks at me with expectantly with her dark brown eyes.

Some of the Gryffindor boys were calling her Miss Tubby the other day in Transfiguration, which I thought was kinda mean. I mean, a little bit funny, but not really. Because it's _so_ obvious, you know?

She's not the _fat_ kind of fat. She's what Mum calls _plump_. It's like, you can tell when someone's fat because it's gross to look at them. It's not _gross_ to look at Miss Tibby. She doesn't look _bad_, you know? Just sort of _large_. It's hard to describe the difference... but, usually, you can sort of tell if somebodies _supposed_ to be plump. Mum says some people are plump their whole lives, and it has nothing to do with how much they eat. I think you can sort of tell with people like that, because they don't look _fat_.

I think people should focus more on Miss Tibby's eyes. She's got _really_ pretty eyes. They're this gorgeous dark brown—though I usually like blue eyes, like Jane's, or Rose's—and...

"_Mr. Malfoy_, you can _begin_ now. Please."

Right.

"My hero is James Potter."

I hear a few people shift in their seats, probably to get into a more comfortable position. When somethings interesting, you'll listen no matter how you're sitting, but when somethings boring, you just want to be as comfortable as possible.

"He's..." My voiced cracked.

Like, half the word he's was a million times higher than the other half.

Jimmy Andrews and Emmaline Flint snickers, and Miss Tibby shot them a look.

I don't mind, though, it probably sounded funny.

My cheeks are getting all stupid and girly and pink again anyway, though. Even though I don't care.

Miss Tibby's looking at me, and I start talking before she can say anything.

Asking me to begin again would only make it worse.

I clear my throat, and a few people look up.

"Sorry about that," I say with a shrug, "I sneezed."

A few kids look confused. Jimmy Andrews, Annie MacDurvis, and Rose Weasley all laugh, though.

"Anyway," I continue, "James Potter is my hero, because he's really..."

I start on my essay.

I'm not the best as writing essays, you know? So, it'll probably be better if I just tell you the story—there's sort of a story behind it, by the way. Not really a good one, but oh well. Honest, I couldn't think of anyone else...

It was my first week at Hogwarts. I didn't really know anyone yet.

I have cousins, but they're mostly older or younger. My cousin Ralph is my age, but he goes to school in Hungary. If you didn't know, Hogwarts isn't in Hungary. I think it's in, like, Scotland, or Wales, or someplace. Pap told me, but I can't remember.

So, since I didn't have family, like some kids, I was pretty much alone for the first few weeks. Felt worst the first week, though. I hadn't really said a word to anyone. I met one boy on the train, but he was in second year, and Slytherin, so I didn't see him much after that. He'd wave to me in the corridors, which made me feel a bit better, but still.

I was in the corridor that day, actually, but that Slytherin boy wasn't there.

No one I knew was.

Someone spilled their potion on my arm in class, and I'd had to go to the Hospital wing to have it checked out. Madame Alkist said the professor'd done a proper job healing it, and sent me back to potions. So, I was on my way there, and most kids were in class.

There were loads of third year Ravenclaws and Gryffindors in the corridor. I think they just got out of a class, or something.

I was walking past, not really paying attention to them, when one of them hexed me, I guess. I mean, I didn't see them do it, but it was pretty obvious.

"Get up!"

Whatever spell they used, it was like my arms and legs were bound. I was on the ground—probably the _only_ one on the ground, but at that point I'd thought I must've tripped, or something, so I didn't realize they were talking to me.

"Didn't you hear me, Malfoy? I said get _up_."

I tried do.

I flopped awkwardly about for a bit, then gave up.

"Get _up_, Malfoy."

This time I didn't move.

"I can't," I murmured. I rolled onto my side and looked up.

The third year was glaring at me, but he looked sort of happy at the same time. Like he hated me, but he loved whatever I was doing, or something. It was a weird expression.

"You _can't_?"

I tried to say yes, but it came out some sort of pathetic squeaking sound. The boy and his mates laughed loudly, though a few of them looked uncomfortable. I dunno why, though, _I _was the only one on the ground.

I guess the other kids in the corridor heard him laughing, because soon it was like all of them were standing there in a circle.

"What happened, is he alright?"

I think they meant me.

"What's wrong?"

"That's the Malfoy kid."

"Who?"

"What's wrong?"

The boy who told me to get up before grinned, angrily almost (again, it was kinda weird) and looked over at the rest of the crowd around me.

"Yeah, it _is_ the Malfoy kid. So, nothing's wrong. He's right where he belongs. _Below_ us."

"Someone took a step forward towards him. "You're _sick_!" she shouted.

The boy raised his wand and shouted some spell and then she was on the floor next to me, but it was different. She was lying perfectly straight, and I don't think she could move her head or anything.

Lots of other people seemed uncomfortable now. A few kids ran off, I think to get a teacher, but maybe just to avoid also ending up on the floor. Some other kids pulled out their wands, but it was like they weren't sure where to point them.

Then someone moved to the inside ring of the circle, but he wasn't facing me, he was facing the boy. This new boy, who'd stepped forward, had dark brown hair and those thin rectangle glasses, but he didn't have his wand out.

"You're wrong."

"What? Vissy was standing up for Malfoy, James. It's not like I really hexed her, she's just _below_ us, now, too. It's her fault for choosing to associate with scum."

"You're _wrong_. She wasn't associating with scum," the boy with glasses pointed at the kids standing on either side of the other boy, "_They_ are."

"What are you _talking_ about, James? I thought we were friends!"

"I would _never_ be friends with the sort of worthless git who hexes a defenseless first year."

"_Oh_," the boy rolled his eyes, "James, James, I think you missed it. _Obviously_ I wouldn't do _that_." The boy with the glasses raised his eyebrows. "That's _the Malfoy kid_. I wouldn't jinx some innocent firstie, obviously."

` "Really, Kinnely? Is that so? I think the innocent firstie you just hexed would disagree."

"Didn't you _hear_ me, mate? That's _Malfoy_. You know what his lots like."

"Oh, do I?"

"Yeah, and I doubt _innocent_ is one of the adjectives _I_'d use to describe them."

"I don't know that I'm sure who you're talking about."

"Death eaters, obviously."

"There aren't any death eaters anymore, Kinnely."

"_His dad _is alive and free, _Potter_."

"_There aren't any death eaters anymore, Kinnely._ The war is over. It has been for years. You weren't even _alive_ for it—none of us were. _Especially_ not some firstie. He's just a kid, what he hell is wrong with you?"

"The hell is wrong with _me_? What's wrong with _you_, Potter! You know who else was _just a kid_? _His fucking father_ was, when he was trying to kill _your_ father! _All our fucking parents!_"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"That all, Kinnely?"

"What more do you need to _hear_, Potter?"

"I dunno, _Kinnely_, I'm still waiting 'round for the bit where you explain why the _fuck_ you've hexed a first year."

"His father-"

"You didn't hex _his father_, you hexed _him_. You hexed an innocent fucking first year, in the middle of a fucking corridor, for no fucking reason."

"_His lot_-"

"He doesn't _have_ a lot! He's fucking _eleven_! The hell don't you understand, Kinnely? The war is _over_!"

"To hell it is-"

I went on to explain the details of their duel to the class, and everyone was really impressed.

Not with me, obviously, with what happened.

I wanted them to be, though, because they _should've _been. I was.

I still am. After he stood up for me, no one gave me a hard time. People seemed on the whole nicer to me, and I hadn't even noticed they'd been brushing me off to begin with. Anyone who'd give me a look before just avoided me, and then after a few weeks I was just another first year.

"James Potter is the coolest _ever_, and I don't give a _damn_ if he can catch a quaffle."

It was worth the detention to say damn in front of the class, 'cause I meant it. Also, Rose Weasley and Jimmy Andrews got detentions, too, for shouting, "Hell yes!"

**-x-**


End file.
